


Défenestration

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, M/M, Married Couple, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: Jared Padalecki has a very nice rut carved out for himself as a 21 year old slacker. Nothing exciting ever happens, until Jeff and Jensen move in next door, and Jared gets a window to a whole new way of life.





	Défenestration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellhoundsprey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/gifts).



> Oh this exploded into something so much bigger than I intended so I will be posting it in parts. Consider it a late birthday present that will keep on giving. This is not dissimilar to Trigger Finger; as our filthy brains run on the same tracks, it's simply unavoidable.

Jared Padalecki gets used to bad habits too easily; it's been nice, having the house next door empty for a few months, nice to hang out of his window and smoke whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without the old crank bustling over and harassing his mother about it. Nice to stare at his own reflection in the dark windows. Even nice to speculate in the few weeks between the 'for sale' sign coming down and the truck rumbling up the quiet street, that day at 11:47.

The truck wakes him up.

(See, sleeping late, another bad habit)

His TV's still on, the glow lessened by the bright day outside, the title screen to his game from last night still droning away muted. And his window's open, shoved aside curtains fluttering in the late morning breeze as the truck next door crunches up the driveway.

Jared's curious but he's sleepy too.

One door, another door slams shut. The voices drift quiet up to him, rustle in with the gently moving curtains.

“So, this is it.” (That voice smokes.)

“Okay,” follows slow with a sweet drawl that perks Jared's ears. “This is it.”

“There's a pool.”

“I know.”

Jared _didn't_. That old bitch had a pool under all the overgrown privacy shrubs and Jared's been sweating his ass off all summer. He grumbles and draws himself up, untangles knobby limbs from sheets and shuffles on the mattress. He folds his arms on the frame, sticks his head out but he can't quite see the front yard from here.

The breeze feels nice, anyway.

“So, let's unpack the stuff for the backyard first. Then you can go for a little dip, huh?”

“Is it safe?”

Jared laughs a little, wondering the same; not once did he see a pool cleaners over there, not one time, but that doesn't mean anything. Much as he'd like to, he doesn't spend his life lounging half out the window. There's two part-time jobs that almost keep him busy, mostly keep him in weed money and keep his mom off his back. Maybe he was just at the mini-golf course or the gym, maybe these guys have already had the house professionally scrubbed of old lady funk.

All he hears is a laugh floating away, the front door to the house opening and closing.

* * *

 

Nothing new ever happens. Not in this neighborhood and not in Jared's life so he wonders too much about it. About them.

In the afternoon, Jared's hanging out the window again, enjoying a skinny joint before his mom gets home. The summer light seems like it's never going to die, slicing through backyards and into the house next door. There's no curtains up yet because it's only been a few hour and it's not priority. Downstairs, the old plastic white vertical blinds clack together, a never-before-open side door where he used to catch the old woman peering at him.

They're open though and this is the first he really sees the voices he's been absently listening to.

They aren't father and son, aren't roommates, as he'd figured.

He pegs tall-and-dark for the smokey-rough voice he heard earlier because the blond twink has to be the sweet sing-song one. He's breathtaking and tall-and-dark grabs him by the sweat-slicked t-shirt to tug him in for a kiss like no one's watching.

No one should be watching.

Jared's watching, though, wishing he had a better view.

Are they married? Boyfriends?

Something in his heart gives an intensely joyful lurch; he doesn't know anyone else who's gay in this whole stupid town (although he keeps a catalog of rumors and speculations in his head).

When the blond pulls back and one-hands the shirt over his head, exposing a wiry-thin torso, hairless and tan, Jared gets the feeling he's not that much older than his own 21.

He watches the khaki shorts go next, pool on the floor out of smooth legs and he loses the view completely after that but hears the back door open and shut, a splash that can only be a pool, and his heart lurches again.

What kind of a person do you have to be to get that? A house, a man? A boyfriend, a life of your own, at 21?

Jared stubs his joint out on the once-white window frame, wondering what's happening in the alternate universe where he went to college, where he went to the big city. Any big city.

Still this, he thinks, flinging himself back onto his bed and stretching out, letting his loose-socked feet stick out the window. Because his mom always laughs when she pulls up the driveway after work and sees him like that, and he'd miss that in any other universe.

* * *

 

Jared stays up late, most nights, cocooned up in his room making progress on some game or other. J-RPG tonight, an import that he still needs a special chip to play. It's engrossing; he's cross-legged at the end of his bed, hunched like an old man and peering at the brightly glittering colors, a roach utterly toasted to death in his coconut shell ashtray.

A boss fight takes him down for the third time. He makes a note of the HP, the other things he tracks in the ratty notebook beside him before he shoves his hands into the nearest chip bag.

Cool Ranch Doritos.

Not bad.

An app flashes his phone to life and he slowly registers the time. 1:11am.

It's a nice number. He likes that one.

The silent night air shudders apart with a scraping, a weird noise he can't place.

He grumbles, lazily looks out his wide-open window.

It was the side door, next door, and he's never ever seen it open. Never ever seen anyone stepping out of it. Tall-and-dark is, now, and shutting it behind him, leaning on it.

They light cigarettes at the same time. Jared's spark must catch his eye, especially in the dark, and tall-and-dark cranes his head up, peers into the window.

Jared feels time speed up somehow out of the underwater-murky stoned depths of night. The light from his window is all there is between them, catching on the grey beard he didn't notice before. He's steely and thin and waves one hand at Jared, his red lighter tucked against his palm by his thumb.

Jared waves back and it feels too slow. He leans his head against the window and stares too long but the man stares back too. The most attention Jared's knowingly had in ages goes right to his head, makes him spin-dizzy, like he might tumble out the window and into the cool night, like he might fall forever.

His brand new neighbor waves again when he goes inside, bare feet barely making a noise on the tiny concrete step. Only the door shutting, the sightly rusty disused noise of the sliding track, marks the passing, and Jared's alone again.

He grins though, falls back with a gentle thud onto his bed, into the messed up blanket pile that's comfy, that's home. There's a whole new world outside his window, now.

* * *

 

“Did you talk to them yet?” Jared asks his mom through a mouthful of cereal. 1pm and he's just woken up and she's just home for lunch, quick-quick before work starts again.

“No, I didn't really have time. I was going to see if you wanted to.” She slurps what is probably her fifth coffee of the day and works on a sandwich, eyeing Jared and his Lucky Charms fondly.

“By myself?”

“They're home, you're home. Ask if you can trim their trees and cut their lawn. You need some sunshine.”

Jared grumbles around some green marshmallows, smiles secretly too because it's a good excuse. It's a great excuse. My mom sent me. My mom wants me to do this.

* * *

 

“My mom sent me,” Jared mutters under his breath, standing before the front door. “My mom sent me, my mom sent me.”

The doorbell echoes empty inside, he can hear it, just a tuneless chime that is so typical of an old lady doorbell. He doesn't doubt they'll change it.

Footsteps thud around, stop, thud again. Muffled yells. Footsteps.

Jared's heart thuds in time with them, too fast and he wishes he'd had the rest of that joint, before he got dressed to come over and meet these guys.

“My mom sent me,” he mutters one more time just before the door opens.

The blond boy absolutely glows.

His hair is longish, artfully tousled, and his face is an easy, open expression.

“I didn't even know we had a doorbell,” he laughs, leaning out the door frame to look.

Jared gets an eyeful of his tight back in the white undershirt, tanned as far as the eye can see.

“My mom sent me,” he blurts out, his hands catching each other behind his back, “I live next door,” comes next, a clarification.

“Ooh, you're the night owl Jeff saw, huh? Smoking out the window?”

Jeff. There's one name. Tall-and-dark with the beard and the wave, with the perfectly intrusive gaze is Jeff. The news settles while Jared plows on with the rehearsed script.

“My mom said I should ask if I can cut your grass? And trim the trees? And stuff?”

Blond blinks, rolls his tongue around the inside of his cheek and laughs a little, a sweet melody. “Hey, d'you have a name? D'you wanna come in?”

He didn't prepare for those questions and even the name stumps him for a moment. He nods and sputters, “Jared,” at the same time, notices green eyes that crinkle a smile and his heart thumps weird.

“It is such a mess, but c'mon,” he turns and waves him in. Bare feet in the house and Jared has sneakers on and he mills around awkwardly wondering if he should take them off. He doesn't, doesn't want to get left behind, and follows blond inside. “We just moved in but I'm sure you saw. This is the quietest street, isn't it? We were like elephants yesterday with that truck, huh?”

The mess is really just boxes, some still sealed and some half-opened, contents spilled nearby. It's a secret private look at everything and Jared wants to paw through these strangers things, learn them that way.

“Yeah, it's pretty quiet,” Jared agrees.

He needs a name to go with this ass that he's following with his eyes laser-focused. No one's ass looks that good in khaki shorts but here it is, right in front of him, swelling out at his waist, pushing at the pockets. He's still staring when the back door opens into the kitchen and tall-and-dark – Jeff – comes in and catches him looking.

Jared swallows, sweeps his eyes up and Jeff just looks amused, if anything.

“Jeff,” blond drawls, sliding up beside him, tucking under his tattooed arm, “This is our neighbor, Jared. His mom sent him over.”

“To see if you needed the lawn mowed,” Jared says in a rush, pretending like his heart isn't hammering in his chest watching their easy intimacy.

It's been a long time since anyone touched him like that.

“I don't even think we have a mower,” Jeff blinks, face thoughtful, “Unless there's one in the garage or the pool shed or something, from the last people.”

“Oh, uh, person. Mrs. Edison. She had landscapers come and do it and she never let them in the back. But I've got a mower. At my mom's. Next door.”

“Jared, how old are you?” Jeff asks him, point blank, his head tilted up in consideration. Same gaze as before.

“Twenty-one,” Jared answers with a bit of a frown. “Why?”

“Just 'cause you look like you're about sixteen, honestly,” Jeff laughs, “No big deal. Still live with your mom?”

“Yeah. Next door.” Jared feels small as ever when he cops to that.

“In school?”

“No, sir.”

“Aw jeez, don't start with that. We're all adults here, right? C'mon outside. You've probably been in this pool more than we have, huh?” The way Jeff swerves, Jared gets caught under his other arm, summer-sweaty and warm and wow, he want to live here. Right here.

“I didn't even know Mrs. Edison had a pool,” he admits, voice gone shy and high as Jeff steers them out the doors. “She didn't like me.”

“What happened to her?” Blond asks, and dammit, Jared still doesn't have a name. It's too late to ask and he still doesn't know.

“Uuh, she died. Not here. In the hospital. She used to tell my mom when I was smoking out the window.”

They both snort a little laugh, right in sync with each other, and Jeff lets them go. Blond flops onto a lounger and tugs his undershirt off, perfectly smooth and tan, the hint of ribs when he stretches and abs underneath, a well-sculpted statue of a man with the face of a Victorian Valentine cherub.

“Hell, don't worry about that. We keep to ourselves, mostly. You work, Jared?” Jeff's standing behind blond's lounger like he's waiting for him to sit back.

“Golf course and a gym.”

“Busy, busy.”

“Not really,” Jared shrugs one shoulder, gnaws at his lip and finally sits. The backyard is unkempt at the edges but surprisingly nice. “I can help you with all of this stuff. I used to work for my uncle landscaping? When I was in high school?”

“Ooh, good, I have some ideas,” Blond grins easily, leaning back, craning his neck up at Jeff, who leans down to kiss him without hesitation, full on the mouth.

Jared can't possibly watch anything else but the blond's perfect pink mouth squish against Jeff's, the rough-looking beard scraping his skin, rustling against it. When they break apart, there's no apology, not a hint of shame and Jared wants that, all of that, wants to be on both ends of this.

“Leave the shrubs up, huh? Jensen likes to skinny dip,” Jeff says with a wink and Jensen – his fucking name is _Jensen_ – pinks up to his ears, giggles soft and turns his face away.

Jensen. Jeff and Jensen.

For the first time in forever, Jared doesn't feel like so much of an outsider.

* * *

 

Nearly eleven that night, just after mom turns in, Jared's smoking and eavesdropping on the quiet next door when his phone vibrates a message. It's tucked under his left thigh and he unfurls, squints at the too-bright screen.

Chad.

_Babe. U up?_

He frowns at it until the screen times out and shuts off, still frowning at it when the message reasserts itself. _Babe_.

He waits ten minutes, ten full exact minutes before he texts back: _Where you been?_

Because three weeks is a long time and it's becoming increasingly clear he doesn't fit into even his best friend's college experience anymore.

_Busy, sorry. What u doing?_

Jared doesn't text back after that. It hurts not to. He watches some Simpsons flat on his back, yellow cartoon folk upside down on his big tv, volume low-low but he doesn't need to hear it, just needs any kind of flickering distraction.

An episode and a half later, he's very close to texting back. But there's a noise next door, exactly what he's been waiting for. He rears up in bed and crowds the window, slides back so the curtains almost cover him. Not that he's peeping. He's not.

The window directly across from his room is open, though, and Jeff's squinting through it. Shirtless, he's thinner than he looks, tattooed and fuzzy and looking directly into Jared's room. Jared holds his breath and prays the angle gives him safe passage. It must, because Jeff walks away, his jeans low on his hips.

Jared edges closer.

Before, that room was full of junk, dark and unused. An ancient headboard barred most of the window. His whole life, he never remembered it opening. Until now. It's thrown wide and, like all of their windows, bare and bright.

The room houses just a bed frame, pine and plain, and a bare mattress with a generous pillowtop.

And Jeff's back (more tattoos, on the backs of his arms and down his shoulder blades) and Jensen, standing naked in front of him.

“The country air doing you good?” Jared hears Jensen's sweet operatic voice, hears the light laugh in the words. “Just sayin'.”

“I told you we have to christen every room and I goddamned meant it,” Jeff laughs back.

Jared's breathless just watching them, aware this is a set up of some kind but he doesn't care too much. Like yesterday, he watches Jeff pull Jensen in, by a hand curled around his neck this time. Jensen grins and lets it happen, smashes mouth-first.

Hands everywhere and Jared's prove no exception, artlessly grabbing his dick through his loose gym shorts. Always nice like this, soft material rustling, like silk against the heat of his skin.

“So you're gonna fuck me in here too, huh?” Jensen says across the way and it sounds too close, dangerously close.

But Jared's safely tucked against his wall, perched on his knees on the bed and the angle's awkward but he can see enough.

“Mm, mhmm. Already did the living room.”

“The kitchen.”

“The deck last night. Nice fucking outside, huh?”

“It was weird,” Jensen hums, gets backed up and boosted up against the window so it frames his ass like the pretty picture it is. Big hands move from his waist to his ass and pull. Jared almost gasps, never seen something like that outside of porn, sweet puffy pink, already used and open and his hand sinks into his pants when a pearly little stream drips out, catching the light in the most obscene way.

Jeff fucks him right there, perched on the window like they're used to dangerous places and awkward situations while Jared creeps around the corner, watching with owl wide eyes. He's never seen sex so close, filthy dirty pounding. The epic stretch around Jeff's impossibly thick cock holds his interest like nothing else. It doesn't make a lick of sense that it fits but it _does_.

They're so tight together, Jensen wrapped arms and legs around Jeff, hanging on while he gets railed. It's some kind of art.

Jared does his best to stay out of the line of sight but he swears more than once Jeff's eyes purposefully seek him out, swears he can see him around the curtain. Jared swears again that it's a goddamned set up but he can't bring himself to care.

He comes when Jeff does, his a quiet gasp and a mess splattered against his shorts while Jeff's is a loud grunt, his fingers white on Jensen's soft skin, his cock half-way out so the load oozes, smears and slides around Jensen's clenching hole, like he's coming too, but Jared can't hear it if he is, through the buzzing in his ears.

If they say anything, across the way, it's quiet and low and not for him.

But five minutes later, the downstairs door slides open and Jeff steps out, still in those dangerously undone jeans. He lights a smoke and Jared's heart pounds uncomfortably hard in his chest.

Waiting, waiting.

He isn't hiding, now. He's enjoying the breeze with some soft video game music in the background, ten years old and familiar.

Jeff looks up while he takes a drag and his mouth curls around the cigarette, purses to push out the smoke and then settles into a knowing smile.

He waves and Jared returns it, his long arms laid out the length of the open window, just watching, waiting for some cue, some _thing_ he'll understand when it happens, he's sure.

* * *

 

Jared starts helping them unpack over the next few days. The box marked 'fragile' contains nothing but pictures of the two of them. With no one watching, he caresses every one, imagines how their relationship came to be.

They're stunning together, sweet and easy and Jared loves watching it, in pictures and in real life.

Jensen's angling the couch, shirtless and huffing about inches while Jared puts out the framed pictures onto the mantel, aware they'll be moved later, but helping for now. He unwraps the last picture in the box, pulling away weeks-old headlines and nearly gasping.

The backdrop is cheesy, crepe-paper bells in white and pink, streamers and glittery hearts and a white lattice stuffed full of fake roses.

The foreground though.

Jensen, tanned and gorgeous and squeezed into tight charcoal pants and a matching jacket, a white shirt and a skinny tie, leaning against Jeff in jeans, always, and a goddamned boss leather jacket. He's holding a beer down by his side like he thinks it's out of frame, but it isn't.

The banner in the front, super-imposed on the glossy picture says 'Congratulations Newlyweds!' with little hearts interspersed and Jared stares at it for way, way too long.

“You're married?” he asks, eventually.

Jensen looks over, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips, in front of the couch like he was lost in thought. “Um, yeah,” he says and it draws a smile. “It'll be a month on Saturday, actually.”

Jared didn't know, somehow, and it's hard to shake the feeling that he's been duped. He hasn't, though. He's only known them for three-four days. That's nothing, nothing at all.

Jensen walks over, barefoot quiet and standing close, smiling at the picture. “Vegas,” he explains, “Jeff just got home from some overseas job and he was like...so into it. I mean, he drove to my apartment right from the airport and I don't even know if we said hi or anything before he...well, uh. It'd been like, three months since we saw each other, so...”

Jared can fill in those blanks easily, imagining it just as clearly as he'd watched it the other day. He nods quickly, swallowing, memorizing every scrap of the story.

“Then we were in the shower after and he just like...hopped out and five minutes later, told me to pack.” Jensen's face goes even softer, fondness in his eyes, in the way he looks at the picture as he slides it out of Jared's grasp. “I was buck-ass naked and he got on his knees in the bathroom and asked if I wanted to get married.”

“You said yes?”

“I said, 'get off your knees your crazy old man' first and then I said yes,” Jensen laughs, taking the picture away to balance on the mantel, above the fireplace. “He'd already booked us a flight to Las Vegas, of course, and made reservations in that shitty little chapel. But it was nice.”

There's no ring on his finger, though, Jared notices with eagle eyes. Not even a tan line or an indentation where there should be.

“Then he bought this house and swept me away into it,” Jensen says with faux-drama, hand curling up on his forehead, sinking down onto the couch as if it were a fancy chaise in a drawing room somewhere, some other time. “We lived in Dallas. I don't know if I like the suburbs yet.”

“I hope you do,” Jared says, sinking down beside him.

He doesn't know what to do when Jensen looks at him like that, when Jensen slings his legs up over his lap and stretches out, wiggles his toes so his calves jump against Jared's thighs.

“You can show me around, huh? Jeff goes back to work next week,” Jensen sighs.

“What's he do?”

“I don't really know,” Jensen puffs out, tucking his hands behind his head. No hair under his armpits, barely any on his legs either, Jared notices, resting his hands on his calves for lack of anywhere else to put them. “He's like, FBI or something? Something like that. So it's all super secret and he travels a lot. Well, he used to. He said he won't anymore, if he can help it, and that he transferred to a 'field office'. I don't know.” He sighs out the last phrase and lets it hang, a vague air of disappointment seeping through.

Jared mostly stares at him, blinking slow at the relaxed lines of Jensen's smooth, perfect face, the pillowy lips that always look ripe for kissing, the almost-manly jaw. His nose is just slightly crooked and Jared can't imagine it broken, can't imagine any part of this actual living doll bruised or battered.

But he remembers Jeff's hands digging hard into his hips, a few nights before, the skin under his fingertips white.

Jared glances to his hips and wonders if Jeff left marks, if he ever does it on purpose.

He's still wondering when Jeff walks in with a bag of takeout, stopping in the doorway and chuckling.

“Thick as thieves, huh? Look at you two. What a pretty picture this is.”

Jared feels his heart speed up, uncomfortably fast like the first time he stole that lighter from the corner store, like he's been caught at something.

But Jensen just stretches again, arms overhead, his tight body elongating right on top of Jared, a cat preening in the sun. “Think we're cute together?” he asks, sharing a secret and unreadable look with Jeff, with _his husband_ before he hops up to kiss him on the cheek.

Jeff doesn't say anything, but keeps his eyes on Jared the whole time, glittering mischief.

 


End file.
